The Chronicles of Hvad Ch. 08

HVAD CHAPTER 8

- "Fuck your patience!"

I had to look away. I hadn't realized just how frustrated he was.

A few moments later, Borna came over and put his hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ljudevit." he said. "It's not you. I'm considering my options - but I don't like any of them."

- "Tell me." I said.

- "Two months till' winter. I'm not looking forward to another winter in the woods. And how many people will come to join us? Fighters, I mean."

- "Thirty or forty." I said.

Borna snorted at me. "Seriously."

- "Twenty. Maybe."

- "More like ten. And how do we feed them? I don't want to go back to raiding my own people for food." He sounded despondent - as low as I had ever seen him.

- "We have to start somewhere." I suggested.

- "Do we?" he asked.

- "What does that mean?"

Borna snapped his little twig, and flung it away from him. "We could go to Izumyr. Sell our swords, and fight in their wars. They're always at war somewhere, or with each other - aren't they?"

"Or maybe I could persuade them to support me - to lend me the men to fight this Adarion and Yelsa alliance."

He saw the look of horror on my face.

"What?"

- "Borna - if you invite the Izumyrians in ..."

- "I know, Ljudevit. They'd never leave. One taste of Hvad, and they'd gobble up everything. I know it. But I told you: I'm considering all of my options - even the most unpalatable ones."

"What about life as a mercenary? Would you follow me?"

- "I swore to be your Hand, Borna." I reminded him. "But you're no cavalryman. Izumyrian lords ride into battle. I don't think they'd respect a lord who fought on foot. We'd be ... curiosities. Nothing more. The woolly barbarians. The savages from the North."

- "Wild animals." Something seemed to pass behind his eyes, like a shadow. It was gone before I could be certain that I had actually seen it.

I looked around, to make sure that none of the others were close enough to hear us. "You're at a low point - I understand that. It's frustrating, to be right back where we started."

- "It's beyond that, Ljudevit." he said. "Face facts: even if every warrior who ever fought for me was here, that would be 60 fighters. I'm counting men, women, foresters, and the youngsters. What can 60 do against 400?"

- "Fight them." I said. "Not in open battle. Raid. Ambush. Damn it, Borna - you're a master of that kind of fighting. We chip away at them. Grind them down."

He shook his head. "There's a difference, now. When we were fighting Asrava and Mushtal, or Manahir and his grandsons, we could gain new adherents from among their followers. And I didn't need every single warrior in Yeseriya to be elected Ban - just a majority."

"Just for a laugh - let's say I was Ban - how many men could I call upon?"

- "Two hundred." I said.

- "Right. Because we've killed a hundred, this past year. And we've been invaded by 400! How many more can they muster, back in Adarion? Another 400? How long would we have to raid and ambush? Years? And how many more friends would we have to bury? Khoren. Priit. Shant. Berit."

- "Fimi." I added.

- "Fimi." he repeated. He sat back down. "Alright - I've had my little tantrum."

- "You scared me, there." I told him. "You sounded like you were ready to give up."

- "Why? Because I talked about selling my sword? Going to Izumyr? I was just thinking out loud, Ljudevit. I would never do that. Precisely because of the friends we've buried. And my family. It would seem like a betrayal, to stop now."

"The task is more daunting - that's all. It just means that I may have to resort to more drastic measures.

- "What kind of measures?" I asked. Borna just shrugged. Then my eyes narrowed, and I looked at him suspiciously.

"What?"

- "What?" he answered back.

- "You've got that look on your face. You're thinking of something." I said, sure now.

- "Some things you said. That's all."

- "Such as?"

- "You mentioned mercenaries." he said. "What if we could hire fighters?"

- "We don't have that much coin, and you know it." I said. "Besides, where would you find mercenaries to hire? Izumyr is not an option - for that."

- "You also spoke of 'woolly wild men'. Barbarians from the North." he reminded me. "What about the real wild men?"

- "No." I breathed.

- "Yes. Uplanders."

- "You're not serious."

- "Why not? They're killers." he said. "They'd fight for a bent copper coin. They'll follow me for plunder. And no one knows for sure how many of them there are."

- "Borna - the Uplands?"

- "I understand your reluctance." he said. "I share it."

The Uplanders were savages. They carried on vicious blood feuds, that lasted for generations. They exposed weak children on frozen hillsides, using them as bait to draw wolves and bears.

The men kidnapped and raped women, and then called them wives. Upland chieftains were said to have fathered children with their own daughters, or sisters. They knew neither honour, nor morality; Uplanders respected only strength, and cunning. Murder and treachery were daily staples. Most Hvadi considered them little better than wild animals.

Some of them didn't even know metal-working; they fought with sharp sticks, hardened in the fire. They mutilated the corpses of their enemies, and took heads as trophies. Some kept ears, or other body parts as souvenirs. Yes, those parts.

I shook my head. "Borna .... no."

He stood up again.

- "You have three days to think about it." he said. "If you can think of a better plan, I'll be happy to listen."

***

Instead of calling the other four together, and broaching his idea to them, he approached them individually. In a group, they could have supported each other, or shared their revulsion. Separately, they were more vulnerable to his powers of persuasion.

I saw Aare wandering about, a bemused expression on his face, and knew that Borna had spoken to him. Durra was indecipherable. I couldn't tell if she knew. Lovro came to me.

- "The Uplands?" he said.

- "He told me."

- "Fuck me." said Lovro. He spat.

- "I know."

- "Ljudevit - the Uplands?" Lovro shook his big head, as if in disbelief.

- "I know."

- "Can you talk him out of it?" asked Lovro.

- "He gave me three days to think of an alternative. What do the others say?"

- "How the fuck would I know?" he said. "The kid looks stunned. Durra won't talk to me."

- "No wonder. You should apologize to her." I suggested.

- "For what? I'm the one with the broken nose, here. You talk to her!"

So I did. Durra was intimidating. As I looked at her long auburn braids, and her attractive profile, I could understand why Lovro might have propositioned her. Then she turned those basilisk eyes on me, and I wondered how LongArm had taken leave of his senses, to the point of imagining that she might actually sleep with him.

- "Durra? I just wanted to ask ... what do you think about Borna's idea?"

- "The Uplands?"

- "Yes."

Durra looked at me without blinking. "I don't like it." she said. "I would prefer never to go anywhere near the Uplands. But where my Lord goes, I will follow. As his Hand, you should feel the same."

That pretty much settled the matter, for me.

In the next few days, no one arrived to join us. And I couldn't think of a single valid argument to change Borna's mind.

We rode east.

***

Perhaps it was the one direction our enemies did not expect us to go. Whatever the reason, there was no pursuit that we were aware of. A day's ride from Asrava's steading - I didn't know what else to call it - we saw fewer farms, fewer pastures. Soon even these few petered out altogether.

There was an occasional burned-out ruin, but no occupied houses. It was too close to the unmarked, unclaimed border between Yeseriya and the Uplands. Even the toughest and most desperate couldn't survive here.

We began to climb, into the foothills. The far-off, snow-capped mountains were spectacular, but my heart was sinking in direct proportion to the rise in altitude. It was only just harvest time, but here there was already a distinct chill in the air.

The grass seemed thinner - or perhaps that was only my imagination. But there were fewer trees, and all of them seemed to be evergreens. They were smaller, often stunted by the thin air and poor soil.

The first dwellings we passed were all the same: stunted, scruffy shacks, with a few scrawny chickens pecking the dirt, or foraging goats, not too particular about what they ate. There were sheep here and there, and we saw a few skinny cows. But no people. Humans made themselves scarce, in the Uplands, when riders approached.

- "Are they afraid of us?" asked Aare, genuinely curious. "They all seem to be hiding."

- "Or planning an ambush." said Lovro.

- "Strangers are enemies, in the Uplands." said Borna. "So are neighbours."

We all felt it: that prickly feeling, just short of an itch, between our shoulder blades, that told us we were being watched. When we camped for the night, at least three of us were on watch at all times. But I don't think that anybody slept. I closed my eyes, but lay awake, listening.

The sensation of being followed, of being watched, stayed with us for most of the next morning. Tsoline believed that she had found a trail; Borna was sure that it had to lead to a settlement of some kind.

We came upon a hamlet just after midday. It would be a gross overstatement to call it a steading. There were seven buildings. One had a thatched roof, four posts, and one wall. There were four ponies sheltering beneath it, so I assumed that it served as a summer stable. Five of the structures were shoddy little shacks, built of stone, and roofed with slate. The last building was a shabby house, identical in design to the others, but twice as large.

There were the usual chickens and goats, and a few cows, in a dusty yard. Two posts stood on the edge of the little settlement, with a beam crudely nailed between them. Three skulls dangled from the crossbeam, suspended by their hair. The heads were fleshless, and weathered by the elements. Clearly, they had been there some time.

As we approached, a trio of armed men came out of the biggest house, and stood waiting for us. Borna halted at a respectful distance.

- "There's more than three." warned Tsoline.

- "Watching from the other houses." said Lovro.

An older man stepped forward. He had long hair, which seemed unable to decide between grey and white. His long beard was a touch greyer, and his full mustache still had traces of black mixed in with the grey and white. The man's face was the color and texture of well-worn leather, from prolonged exposure to sun and wind. But he had shockingly blue eyes which seemed unnaturally bright.

He wore a mixture of leather and fur, with chain mail links sewn into the padded shoulders of a fox or wolf skin. I couldn't tell, exactly, because it was so old and worn. He had a naked dagger tucked into his belt, and carried an axe, bare, in his hand.

- "Who calls on Hanik Sawtooth?" As he spoke, I could clearly see how he had come by his nickname. He had only six or seven teeth left in his mouth, and all had been filed to a point. "Strangers, is it?"

- "New friends." said Borna, as he lifted a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. "My name is Borna."

- "Just the one name?" asked Hanik Sawtooth, clearly unimpressed.

- "I'm known as Borna Vrej."

The old man grinned - or showed his teeth, his bright blue eyes twinkling. "That's a good name - if ye've earned it. Tell me, Borna Vrej: what makes ye think we're going to be friends, you n' me?"

Borna smiled back, and lifted the reins in his hand. "This horse, for one, which I'm going to give you, as a gift. And then the favour which you're going to do for me, in return. By that time, we'll be the best of friends."

Sawtooth studied him for a moment. "But what's to stop me and mine from taking all of yer horses?" he asked. "An' yer gear and weapons, too? That's more profit for us, n' we wouldn't have to do any favours."

- "More reward, for certain." said Borna. "But more risk, too. Even if you have three more men in every building here, we'd take quite a few of you with us. And you would be among the first to die." Then Borna laughed. "But why are we talking about killing? What's happened to the fabled hospitality of the Uplands?"

Sawtooth looked confused. "There's no such thing as hospitality in the Uplands."

- "It was a joke, Hanik Sawtooth." said Borna.

The old man chuckled. "Yer a funny man, Borna Vrej. An' I do want to hear the story of how ye got yer name, whether there's to be killin' or no. So come in, ye and yers - we'll have a drink together."

- "That sounds good." said Borna. "We'll leave our horses out here. But I would be very disappointed if any of them went missing while we were enjoying your ... hospitality."

- "They won't. Hammo here'll look after them." Sawtooth indicated one of the men at his side. "Mind 'em well," he added, "or I'll be eatin' yer liver."

We were invited inside the largest of the buildings, and followed Borna - not without some trepidation. Sawtooth wouldn't steal the horses if he thought that we could kill him. But if he felt that he had the upper hand ...

The inside of his house was dark, and filthy. The floor, of hard-packed earth, was covered in mouldy straw and chicken bones. It was unspeakably filthy, and smelled revolting. We had to fight our gag reflexes, to avoid embarrassing Borna. Aare looked like he was crying, but he wasn't alone; I could feel my eyes watering, too.

There was a fire in the very center of the floor, surrounded by large round stones, with a spit for roasting meat. I couldn't see any tables. Sawtooth's guests sat on stools or benches which lined the walls. That, at least, made me feel marginally better. Sitting with our backs to a wall would be safer. But I confess that I did examine the wall, first, to make sure that it was solid, and that there were no ready-made holes, which would allow someone outside to stab through it.

Half a dozen warriors joined us. Sawtooth, it seemed, was a man of substance, an important figure on the edge of the Uplands next to Yeseriya. No doubt he had some fame as a cutter of throats, or backstabbing thief.

He introduced each man in turn. Most of them had two names, the second usually a title, or a descriptor of some kind. There was a Ludis Picknose, somebody Logsplitter, and a Ferretface. Another was called Saltlicker. Borna, to my intense relief, didn't ask how these names had been earned, and Sawtooth didn't elaborate.

One fellow had only a single name. Vepar. It was an archaic word, in our language, but it meant an angry boar. Vepar certainly looked the part. His short beard bristled in every direction, like the quills of a hedgehog. The sides of his head were shaved, but the hair on top stuck straight up. Both his hair and beard were stiff with mud, or lime.

Vepar's ugly face was set in a permanent scowl. His nose was flat, and he had three major scars, two across his nose and cheek, almost parallel, and another on his forehead, just above his eye. He glared at me.

Sawtooth's men were filthy, and physically unimpressive - with the possible exception of Vepar. The rest ranged from skinny to scrawny. The body odour emanating from them could have choked a buzzard. There was no danger of them sneaking up on us - I could smell them from six feet away.

Their clothing, bits of armour, and weapons were all dirty, mismatched, and poorly maintained. Unless there were another dozen fighters outside, I began to feel more confident that our host would not dare to attack us.

But I had no intention of turning my back on any of them - not even for a moment.

There were three women inside as well, as filthy and under-nourished as the men. Sawtooth spoke to them, but in Uplands dialect. I heard 'brok', and 'niskadi'. The first might have been a corruption of our word for food, or meal. It took me a moment to figure out 'niskadi'. He meant low people, or lowlanders.

They served us drink in wooden cups. It was local moonshine, and it burned a fiery channel down my throat before settling in the pit of my stomach like bubbling acid. It tasted like raw alcohol with a hint of pine needles. When I breathed out, it singed the hairs in my nose.

Sawtooth then invited Borna to introduce our party. Borna was clever enough to give us second names, or titles, too. I was Ljudevit the Hand, of course, and Lovro was LongArm.

The Uplanders seemed reasonably impressed with Lovro - as well they should have been. Only Vepar looked he might have dared to challenge my friend.

- "What happened t'yer nose, LongArm?' asked Sawtooth.

Lovro grinned sheepishly. "I made a suggestion to Durra, over there. She wasn't nearly as flattered as I thought she'd be."

- "Durra NoseBreaker, then?" said Sawtooth.

- "That's it." agreed Borna. "The youngster is Red Aare, for obvious reasons. And this is Tsoline LongShot. She uses a bow."

- "I'll keep that in mind." replied Hanik Sawtooth. He grinned at her, showing his filed teeth. "So, Borna Vrej ... time to tell us how ye earned yer name?"

- "My Hand will tell the tale." said Borna. "I don't like to boast. Much."

Imants would have been worth his weight in silver, had he been there. I did the best I could, in his place. I gambled, and used the word 'niskadi' for lowlanders. By their reaction, I had guessed correctly.

They shook their heads at our stupidity, when I told of Maigon and Asrava's treachery against us. But they grinned openly at my description of our revenge on Asrava.

- "We know that name - Asrava. The Hospodar." said Sawtooth. "So if he's dead, then his son must rule, now. What's his name?"

- "Mushtal." said Borna, draining his cup. "But he can't rule in his father's stead. He's dead."

- "Oh?" said Sawtooth.

- "I killed him, too."

I picked up the story, skipping the hardships of the winter in the forest. These people would probably consider that a pleasant outing. I stuck to the fights, the ambush at Borna's Butt, and our second raid on Asrava's steading.

- "So there's no Hospodar, anymore?" said Sawtooth, running his fingers through his beard. "What happened to the daughters? Asrava's daughters?" asked Sawtooth. "You killed 'em? Tell me that ye fucked 'em before ye killed 'em."

I was glad that I could not see Durra's or Tsoline's faces, from where I sat. Borna glanced at me - very quickly - before he replied. "I gave them to my men." he said. "The eldest to Khoren, the youngest to Ljudevit."

All of Sawtooth's men - even Vepar, the Boar - nodded at that. It was a universal, in Hvad. Fighting men respected a leader who was successful, but generosity was even more appreciated. Especially if he gave them horses, and women.

- "Where is this Khoren? I'd like to meet him." said Sawtooth. "And what did ye do with Asrava's daughter, Hand?"

- "I kept her for a year. Then I gave her to a guslar." I said. It was close enough to the truth. "As for why Khoren is not here - there's more to my story."

- "Go on." said our host. "Ye could make a decent guslar, yerself, Hand. Can ye sing?"

- "He can fight." said Borna. "And he thinks. A chieftain can't have enough fighters and thinkers. Isn't that so, Hanik Sawtooth?"

The bright eyes twinkled again. "I can do the thinking." he said. "But good fighters? I agree with ye there, Borna Vrej. Go on, Hand."

I told of Vazrig, and the rape of Borna's mother. This was something Uplanders could understand. In that, they were indistinguishable from lowland Hvadi. The worst insults, in our language, are directed at a man's mother. Loose words like that can get you killed - and no one would call it murder.